The Contest
by WizardsGirl
Summary: Dwalin inadvertently challenges Bilbo... This is Crack written at 3 AM, I was seriously bored and couldn't concentrate on anything else. Enjoy! T only for mild language and consumption of alcohol.


**A/N:** When I get bored, I write random shit.

Enjoy~!

_**The Contest**_

Bree was just as gloomy and suspicious as Bilbo remembered from his youth. Men hawked their wares, women watched over their children like guard dogs, and the Hobbits that lived there, while friendly, were a stern lot that gave Bilbo a nod of greeting and the Dwarrows he traveled with a few wary glares. Gandalf, as a common sight in Bree every few months, was nodded to or ignored, but nothing more or less.

"We'll take rooms at the Goose & Gander," the Wizard announced cheerfully, smoking his pipe as he steered his handsome horse towards the Hobbit-and-Man-run bar, the Dwarrows ponies following his lead instinctively. Bilbo sneezed miserably into Bofur's kindly lent pocket, dreading already the rest of this confounded journey, and days spent riding when any other proper Gentlehobbit would keep his feet firmly on the ground-Where they belonged, he might add!

He grimaced as he barely managed to climb from his mare's saddle without falling, ignoring the snickers of Fili and Kili as the dismounted nearby, with much more grace than Bilbo could manage without at _least_ several months of practice... Which he was sure to get, he thought with mild irritation, sneezing yet again and silently curing the steady downpour of light rain that was sure to be a storm that would drown a troll. And he highly doubted that Thorin would be willing to sit it out in a nice boarding house or tavern, as uppity and determined as _he_ was.

"Come along, dear Bilbo!" Gandalf called cheerfully, and Bilbo sent a narrow glare to the tall Wizard's back, but grudgingly followed, his foul mood lightened half-heartedly at the thought of a good, long pull of ale and a hot meal. They entered the Goose & Gander to a nod of welcome from the Man behind the bar, and a gentle smile from the Hobbit lass that was serving a pair of Hobbit lads their drinks. She was a comely lass, with red-gold hair, dimpled cheeks, and Took-green eyes, much like Bilbo's own, and much like his mothers. Though she was a Brandybuck in name, her own mother was a Took, and Bilbo's mother's youngest sister besides.

"Bilbo Baggins, it's been too long!" She exclaimed happily, walking right past the armoured Dwarrows without so much as a batted eyelash, to throw her arms about Bilbo's neck and kiss his cheek. Bilbo smiled and hugged her back, genuine happiness filling him at the sight of her.

"Indeed it has, dear cousin," he greeted in return. "Dear Prim, how are you? And Drogo? He's treating you right, isn't he?" He asked, pulling back to peer into her eyes with a half-smile. "If not, I can always _remind _him for you," he offered, and his voice took on a stern, unforgiving tone, which made his sweet cousin laugh happily at the sound of it.

"Oh, Bilbo, we'll make a Took of you yet!" She laughed, delighted as she kissed his cheek again. "I am quite fine, dear cousin, and Drogo has taken good care of me and been a complete and proper Gentlehobbit, no need to worry about that!" Bilbo felt himself relax, slightly, and a faint embarrassment over his reaction. Drogo Baggins was a fine Hobbit, if a bit queer, with his liking of water far deeper than any sensible Hobbit would dare to get close to, but a fine, respectable Hobbit otherwise. But, Bilbo would freely admit that he was biased when it came to his favorite cousin, Primula, and he would always be of the opinion that no Gentlehobbit would ever be good enough.

"That is good news, cousin," he offered, smiling as Prim beamed and then promptly began herding him and his Company towards a cluster of tables that were swiftly pushed together. Soon, nearly every Dwarf was talking eagerly about this or the other, Gandalf was having a quiet, serious discussion with Thorin a few tables away, and Bilbo was quietly nursing his ale, three empty plates in front of him and a content look on his face, lost in thoughts and absently listening to the conversations around him...

The ones he could understand, of course.

"Oh, shut up you idiot!" Dwalin snorted at something Bofur was saying, something Bilbo had missed while listening to Oin loudly proclaim that Dori made fine herbal tea that cured migraines. "Even the Hobbit could drink more than you, and that's saying something, since he's so small!" Bilbo, and near about every Hobbit in the tavern, stilled and turned their attention to the large Dwarf. The Dwarrows slowly fell into an uncomfortable silence under the combined weight of nearly a dozen gazes.

"Oh, you've done it now, laddie!" The Man at the bar snorted, smirking. Dwalin furrowed his brows and glowered, but Bilbo interrupted before he could do anything else.

"PRIM!" He shouted, voice cutting through the air, eyes narrowed on the Dwarf. "This Dwarf has questioned my ability to hold liquor!" Primula sashayed over, a fierce, dangerous smile on her face, eyes alight with glee.

"That he has, cousin dear! Shall we rectify the matter?" Bilbo nodded sharply, and then pulled out a cheque book. Swiftly, he filled all but the cost out, and handed it to his cousin, before turning to his baffled companions.

"Mister Dwalin," he intoned seriously. "To question a Took's ability to drink is to challenge him or her to a contest, and while I am a Baggins in name, I am, without a doubt, a Took in blood. So, do you stand by your comment?" Slowly, Dwalin's disbelieving stare turned into a fierce, confident grin, and a few of the Dwarrows grinned or chuckled indulgently, Fílí and Kílí the loudest of them all.

"Aye, I do, lad," Dwalin announced, and there was a sharp _thunk_ sound throughout the tavern as ever Hobbit immediately slammed their fists onto the nearest surface, turning to watch the show with knowing, smirking faces.

"Primula, dear, you heard the Dwarf," Bilbo declared, and he and Dwalin shifted around, until the two of them were facing each other on opposite sides of a table. Primula chuckled, grinning fiercely.

"Oh, aye, cousin," she said, sly grin curling her plump lips and showing off her dimples. "I'll get the kegs, shall I?" As she moved towards the back, the Man behind the bar shook his head, before moving to the door and opening it, sticking his head out with a sharp whistle.

"OI!" He bellowed. "Some Dwarf just challenged a Hobbit to a drinking contest! Any of you lot that want to place bets, get your arses in here!" The Man had barely returned to his place behind the bar, when a flood of Men and Hobbits swarmed in, the Hobbits joining their own folk to walk with smirks and grins, or whisper to one another to find out how the scene before them had come about, while the Men began to rapidly exchange money and objects, murmuring bets after taking in the two sitting at their table. The Dwarrows all shared confused glances, while Gandalf leaned back and chuckled knowingly to himself.

When Primula finally brought what was the first of many kegs to come, the entire bar quieted once more. She swiftly began filling pints full of ale, setting one on each side of the table, until both sides had ten. Ten, she slammed her hand between them all, and began to announce the stakes.

"One Dwalin the Dwarf has challenged on Bilbo Baggins the Hobbit to a Contest!" She declared clearly. "The stakes are, first to drop loses, winner gets an all-you-can-eat meal at the expense of the other, set whenever they choose! Dwarf, Hobbit, grab your pints!" Bilbo and Dwalin both grabbed their cups. "Ready? ...DRINK!" And so the two began to chug.

And chug.

And _chug_.

And chug some more.

Bilbo had to admit, he was mildly impressed. When twenty-five ales had come and gone, Dwalin was still managing to keep up with him. It was quite the achievement for a non-Hobbit. Even Sacksville-Bagginses could only last for twenty-seven on average, and they had the lightest weight of drinkers in all of Hobbiton! But, the Dwarf was doomed from the moment those cursed words left his lips and, at thirty-three ales, Dwalin gave an enormous belch, reached for his next ale with a wobbly, uncertain hand...

And fell over backwards, snoring like a storm.

Bilbo, who was _finally_ beginning to get a little tipsy, glanced down at the Dwarf with mild pity, before he calmly finished the fourteen, already-filled ales awaiting on the table, as Hobbits and Men cheered or groaned, depending on whom the bet upon.

"...Mister Boggins?" Kílí asked, stunned and rather awed, as Bilbo finished the last of the ale, wiping his mouth neatly with the borrowed pocket-made-'kerchief.

"Yes, lad?" he asked easily, sitting back as Primula gathered a few Hobbit lads to assist her in moving the four empty kegs and one just-touched one, as well as the dirty glasses, while the barman grinned like a well-fed cat, collecting his cut of all bets.

"How...?" the young Dwarf tried, flailing his hands a bit in total bafflement. Bilbo sent him a fondly amused look.

"My dear Mister Kílí," the Hobbit started. "Hobbits are simple creatures. Give us food, sunshine, decent conversation, and a good party any time, and we'll happily live out the rest of our lives, content. However, there are very few things Hobbit's take more seriously than our ability to hold our drink!" He chuckled, and then hiccupped, coughing a bit and covering his mouth. "Excuse me!" And, as he turned to once more converse with his favorite cousin, every Dwarf thought the same thing.

Hobbits were strange, _strange_ creatures.


End file.
